


Surviving the burrow

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Drarry Dump [20]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M, The Burrow, Weasleys, the weasleys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Potter, get me out of here. I can’t go in there. Take me home this instant, I will do whatever you want, just not this. Don’t make me go in there with…them. I will scrub the toilets and do the wash for an entire week. I will pay you in sexual favors.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving the burrow

Let me tell you about the night that I died.

Ok, I didn’t really die, but I feel I was teetering very close to the edge of death.  It had started so innocently a week prior over dinner.

“He wasn’t going to say ‘I love you,’ I know it.”

That sentence right there would signal my eventual undoing.

_“Why would you say that?”_

He asked, shooting me a baleful expression.  I turned from the telly box to stare blankly at him, blinking slowly.  “Because he doesn’t. He’s not meant to love anyone.”  I shrug offhandedly and turn my gaze back to the telly, eyes rolling at the tearful image of Rose Tyler on the screen.  “Besides, if he loves anyone, it’s Jack.”  I offer him a sly smirk and a mischievous wink. 

_“He loves her; you’re just too stubborn to see it, Malfoy.  I doubt you would know love if it walked up and smacked you about the head.”_

I snorted, outwardly wounded by his scathing remark.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”  I mutter, only half meaning it.

 _“Am I?”_ He asks with that annoyingly faux innocent expression that he thinks works on me. (It doesn’t)

“Absolutely.”  I reply evenly, brow quirking only just.  He blinks at me and I feel my insides squirm.(Ok, maybe the expression works a bit)

 _“Alright then, prove it.”_  His emerald eyes flash and he offers me that lopsided grin and I know, I just fucking know that I’m done for.

“Name it.”  I reply nonchalantly, although I’m nothing close to that.

 _“You come with me somewhere, no complaints.”_  His expression is hardened into indifference and I want to pout, knowing I am about to walk into a trap.

“Fine.”  I reply flatly, silver gaze marking him for a long time before turning my attention back to the telly.

We weren’t talking about Doctor Who anymore..

The following Sunday found me standing on a grassy hill staring wide-eyed at the teetering hovel that was the Weasley burrow. I cannot begin to describe my horror.

“You are insane, I can’t go in there.”

I’m shaking my head as I round on him, reaching to curl my fingers frantically into the front of his jumper. I can literally  _see_  the mirth in his eyes and while normally I would be jumping at the chance to bark out a string of scathing insults, right now I am not above begging. 

“Potter, get me out of here. I can’t go in there. Take me home this instant, I will do whatever you want, just not this. Don’t make me go in there with… _them_. I will scrub the toilets and do the wash for an entire week. I will pay you in sexual favors.”

He just laughed and patted my arm and assured me I’d be fine.  That’s it.  Fine. I was NOT going to be fine. 

I am a dead man.

Two hours after that found me sitting on a well  _used_  sofa trying very hard not to lean against the patchy quilt that was draped over the back of the thing.  Mr. Weasley was grilling me animatedly about Potter’s muggle telly box, demanding to know how it worked and pouting slightly that Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t allow him to have one in the house.  This tidbit of knowledge made me smirk, just a little bit. It wasn’t much, but it was something that I had that he didn’t.(Actually, if I’m honest, there are quite a lot of things that I have that he doesn’t, but you get the point!)  I took to talking loudly about the thing, gesturing widely with my hands as I described the  **fantastic**  muggle telly shows we would watch on it.  I might have just gone over taunting him forever if Harry hadn’t had come by and discreetly pinched me. Hard. In the arm.  I cleared my throat and tried really hard not to pout.  I glanced about the  _sitting_ room, narrowed silver gaze falling on this and that.  There were pictures everywhere, I was surrounded by wizard portraits all waving and smiling obnoxiously.

I was in hell.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. The chairs were rickety and the dining room was barely large enough to contain the lot of us. I felt kind of like a sardine packed in a tin of oil with a bunch of gingers.  Harry sat across from me wearing the most obnoxious grin I’ve ever seen, shoveling food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in years.   _“Everything looks Delicious, Mrs. Weasley.”  “You’ve really out done yourself this time, Mrs. Weasley.”_  I sat there with my hands folded in my lap, watching him, silently picturing his head shrinking the size of a grape.  His attention suddenly snapped back to me and the corner of his mouth twitched with a smirk.   _“Don’t you agree, Draco?”_ I grumbled under my breath and I could feel the weight of their gazes on me.

“Oh yes, it’s quite lovely.”

I mutter, shooting her a small smile and ignoring the rest.  I had gingers on my left and gingers on my right, I don’t know who was who, they sort of all look the same. After a while I took to giving them little nicknames in my head, so I might remember them should the need arise.  There was Mr. and Mrs. Ginger, they were easy enough to remember.  Then there was  _Weasley,_ unfortunately I will never forget his ugly face.  There was glasses Weasley, who seemed to have his head rather lodged in his arse.  He was very keen on dreadfully boring laws and legislation, I quickly tuned him out.  Then there was scarface Weasley, who didn’t actually seem all that bad, not that I’d ever admit that out loud.  There was also dragon hide trouser Weasley, who had a ponytail like my father. Except…Ginger.   _Shudder._   Then there was girl Weasley and funny Weasley. 

After dinner I found myself outside in the garden, if you could call it that.  I stood at the edge of the porch and tried to account for the exact moment I had stepped into another dimension.  If anyone had told me I’d be dining with the Weasleys come Sunday I would have laughed heartily at their expense, or hexed them, but here I am.  It is awkward here and everyone stares at me like they don’t know what to say, and the décor is atrocious and the noise level borders on obnoxious. 

_“Shall we go?”_

A familiar voice at my shoulder softened my expression slightly and I didn’t look at him just yet. 

“What about dessert?”

I ask, brow quirking slightly.  I can feel the weight of his shocked expression and I merely smirk; I really do hate to miss a good dessert.

Inside we are scattered about the house in small groups, Potter has chosen a snug loveseat for the both of us, warm bowls of pear custard crumble in our grasps.  It’s still awkward but the custard is  _really_  good and despite myself I find my eyes fluttering shut once or twice as my spoon slides between my pursed lips.  I’m feeling watched again and I turn to him out of habit, lips twitching at his far off expression.  “What?”  I ask quietly, spoon dipping into my bowl.   _“Nothing.”_  He replies, raven head shaking lightly.  “Ok.”  I shrug and slide another spoonful into my mouth, a soft contented sigh escaping me.   _“It’s just that..”_  I smirk around my spoon, sliding it from my mouth. “Yes?”  I ask, brow twitching as I turn to face him once more.   _“Maybe you really do know about love.”_  He says finally, sounding mildly shocked at his own epiphany.

“I have a really good teacher.”

I reply with a small grin, eyes falling to the slight blush that quickly colors his cheeks.

Much later, I’m staring into the darkness, contemplating the events from the day and still thinking about that pear custard.  I am not going to tell you that I’ve had a change of heart or that I am suddenly a supporter of the Weasley clan, but I will say this..

I survived.

And I might even do it again; if more pear custard were involved..


End file.
